All Good Things
by KariStarr80
Summary: Maggie's tears were something that he could never get out of his head. Nor was the sound of the baseball bat as it collided repeatedly with Glenn's skull. Maybe, just maybe, Daryl might find a way to redeem himself.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: For the record, I don't historically 'ship these two, but I've been interested in exploring this pairing since last season. I have no excuse for this. It's one part fluff and one part smut.

* * *

Maggie's tears were something that he could never get out of his head. Nor was the sound of the baseball bat as it collided repeatedly with Glenn's skull, the sickening _crunch_ as it cracked through bone, the wet _squelch_ as it tore through the brain of the infinitely kind, fair man. Obliterating everything he had once been, everything he _would_ be…

 _Maggie…I'll find you…_

Gone. Blood everywhere, Glenn Rhee nothing but a smear in the dirt, Maggie shaking as she sobbed on the ground, bits of her husband's brains in her hair. It's what had haunted him in that cell at the so-called Sanctuary. His fault. It was all Daryl's fault. Their ghosts had come to him, not just Glenn, but the others he hadn't been able to save. Beth…sweet, pretty Beth, smiling at him, her tiny fingers strumming her guitar.

 _It's okay, Daryl,_ she seemed to be saying to him. _It's not your fault._

But she was wrong. Maybe there wasn't anything he could have done to prevent Beth's death, but this time, it _was_. And it had started with Abraham's death, with seeing Rosita's tears, how that sick fuck had tormented her, with Abe nothing but a smear on the ground next to her…

Daryl had lost it, and Glenn and Maggie had paid for his inability to control himself.

He put his head in his hands, trying not to remember as his foot tapped against the floor nervously, the sound echoing in the small room, amplifying it, but he couldn't seem to stop. To his left, leaning against the window, he heard Jesus's quiet sigh, while Rosita paced impatiently in front of him.

"Can't believe she hasn't pushed that kid out yet," she finally commented, and, through his hands that he was using to prop up his head, Daryl saw her boots stop in front of him. "The fuck does childbirth gotta take so goddamn long? Women are crazy, if you ask me. Who would choose to push a giant, screaming infant forcefully from their body?"

"And what are you?" Jesus said with a quiet chuckle. "Grow a body part we don't know about?"

"Hey. Fuck off." Daryl saw her hands planted firmly on her narrow hips, and he knew she was glowering at the other man.

He chuckled again, but Daryl wanted to tell her to fuck off if she was so goddamn impatient. The kid would get here when it got here, and she could get her impatient ass on somewhere else. He didn't tell her any of that, though. He liked the woman, respected her even, and when he looked at her he sometimes still saw Negan holding that bat in front of her face, telling her to take a good look at the thing, covered in Abraham's blood and bits of his brain.

"Relax," Jesus said, his voice calm as always. "Women have been giving birth since the dawn of time, but it's not like there's a standard. Every delivery is different."

Rosita merely cursed under her breath and turned away as she resumed her pacing, and Daryl did his best to tune the two of them out.

 _You're one of the good things in this world,_ Maggie had told him. _Glenn believed that…_

Those words re-played in his head on repeat, interspersed with the image of that baseball bat colliding with Glenn's skull…

"Daryl?"

His head whipped up, his hands sliding from his face. Carol had appeared in the open door. She was wearing hospital scrubs and looked exhausted. It was no surprise, seeing as how she had been in there with Maggie for hours now.

"The baby's here. Maggie's asking for you."

He didn't know why he was nervous. It's not like he had never been around babies. Hell, he'd given Lil' Asskicker her first bottle, held her and rocked her in the early days, when Rick had been…going through whatever the hell it was he'd been going through.

Still, this was different. It was Daryl's fault this child was fatherless, and how could he ever fix that? How could Maggie even stand to look at him, much less request his presence in the delivery room?

When he entered the room behind Carol—who reached out and squeezed his hand before moving quietly to the window—the first thing he saw was Tara. Wisps had come loose from her dark ponytail, and she was cooing and smiling down at a squirming, pink-swaddled bundle in her arms.

"Bethany."

Daryl's eyes whipped toward her then. Maggie had dark circles under her eyes, her skin was pale and clammy, but she still somehow managed to look beautiful as she smiled gently and reached out for him. He obliged hesitantly, moving into the room and taking her outstretched hand. He looked down at their clasped fingers, wondering how she could stand to touch him.

"Bethany," Maggie repeated. "I named her after her aunt. Something about her eyes… She just reminds me of her."

Daryl swallowed back the lump in his throat as he glanced at the pink bundle.

"She looks just like her daddy," Tara commented, her eyes never leaving the infant as she playfully stuck out her tongue at the child.

Daryl wanted to bolt from the room. He felt like an intruder. He didn't belong here, but Maggie's fingers only tightened on his hand, as if sensing that he was about to run.

"It's okay, Daryl." Carol was looking at him like she could see right inside him, to his very core, and he knew that she probably could. The woman didn't miss much, and she knew him better than anyone.

"Doc says she's healthy," Maggie murmured, clear adoration in her voice as she stared at her daughter. "Nine pounds, three ounces." She laughed then, her eyes flitting back to Daryl. "Believe me, she felt it, too. Like givin' birth to a watermelon."

He tried to smile at her, he really did, but he knew it came out a grimace. "Rick an' Michonne wanted ta be here," he said suddenly, more of an attempt to deflect the awkwardness he felt than anything.

"I know." She smiled, that closed-mouthed smile of hers that caused a dimple to form in her cheek. "They're busy re-buildin' the world. Or at least cleanin' up the mess it's been left in. They'll be here when they can. Believe me, I'm eager to git back ta Hilltop, but first thing's first. Wanna hold her?"

He started, glancing between Maggie and the baby and still not quite certain why she wanted him here.

"It's okay, Daryl," she whispered. "She won't bite. Go meet your goddaughter."

He stared at her, trying to wrap his mind around this new development. Why the fuck would she want him to be…?

But he didn't have time to complete the thought, because Tara had moved around the bed and was gently pressing the infant into his arms. He tried to control the quaking in his limbs as he stared down at the baby. She was awake, looking back up at him with a solemn expression on her little face. She looked like Glenn, without a doubt, but there was something in her eyes that reminded him startlingly of her namesake.

"Hey, honey," he murmured, bouncing her gently. Despite himself, it felt strangely easy, holding this child in his arms. "Wanna learn about bowhuntin,' huh? Your Auntie Beth picked up on it pretty fast. Maybe in a few years, yer mama won't mind. I'll teach ya ev'rything I know about trackin'…"

Slowly, he became cognizant of the fact that Carol and Tara had slipped quietly from the room, leaving him alone with the mother and child. Daryl wanted it to feel strange. He didn't deserve to feel like part of a family unit. But, somehow, as he glanced at Maggie, watching her watching him with a gentle expression on her face, it didn't. And he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

* * *

"Blow out your candles, Bethy."

The four-year-old girl looked up, pigtails askew as she stuck her tongue out at Enid, just as the camera flashed. At her side, Judith and Gracie burst into peals of giggles, and Bethy followed suit, eager to do everything that the older girls did. Only when the trio had settled down—at much coaxing from Aaron and Maggie—did little Bethy blow out the candles, while Enid snapped another shot: "Say cheese, Bethy!"

"Cheeeese!"

"I'm gettin' too old to be travelin' to Hilltop every time a kid has a birthday," Rick commented from the other side of the table, leaning into Daryl. "If Judith and Bethy's birthdays weren't so far apart, I'd say we start doin' 'em together."

Daryl chuckled, stroking his beard absently. "You say that every year. At least twice."

"Guess I do. Still true, though."

"Yeah. Bethy looks up t'Asskicker. Maybe you should move here."

Rick looked at him wryly. "She looks up to you, too, y'know. You oughta be real proud. You done good."

Daryl glanced at him, on the verge of asking him what he was talking about, but the other man clapped him on the shoulder and stood at Michonne's appearance by his side. He threw one arm around his wife, moving away to talk to a guy that Daryl only knew in passing, Rosita's new boy toy.

His eyes flitted back to Maggie, who was busy cutting the cake. She smiled as she admonished the girls for trying to swipe the icing with their fingers, and he didn't miss the glances she threw his way. He tried not to blush. Lately, it was happening more frequently. The looks that suggested he was more than just the close friend who'd helped raise her daughter.

It hadn't been on purpose. He hadn't _planned_ on never leaving Hilltop, but Maggie had been exhausted following the delivery of her daughter. Daryl ended up sleeping in the room adjoining hers so he could help where he was needed. He couldn't help with the nighttime feedings since she was breastfeeding, but he could change diapers. He could rock the infant once she was fed, allowing Maggie to get some much-needed rest. Maybe it was partly out of a sense of obligation, at first. Glenn couldn't be there, and it was Daryl's fault. At any rate, she hadn't protested, accepting his help with a grateful hand on his shoulder, a smile of gratitude.

Once Maggie resumed her leadership duties fulltime at Hilltop, Daryl had alternated with Enid and Tara to care for the infant during the day when he wasn't hunting or on watch. He was surprised by how easily he took to nurturing the girl, blowing raspberries on her belly, playing peek-a-boo. Trying to see what would cause her to burst into a fit of giggles. It felt as natural as breathing, and he took joy in it. At some point, maybe after a year, perhaps two, he realized he'd stayed because he wanted to. He hadn't wanted to miss her first steps, her first words. The moment she'd looked at him and tried to say his name. "Dow-dow." Her first word. Maggie had been in the room, and she'd burst into tears, but Daryl suspected it was more 'cause her girl's first word hadn't been "mama."

What's more, and he only admitted it to himself in recent months, was that he hadn't just stayed for the girl.

At that thought, he found his eyes drawn to Maggie once more. She was wearing a sundress, and her fair skin was smooth, soft-looking in the sunlight, punctuated by the occasional scar. Her legs were long and shapely, her waist narrow above the flare of her hips. She had grown her hair out again, and it was loose about her shoulders.

"Eyes back in your head, Pookie." Daryl started as Carol placed a large slice of cake in front of him, playfully nudging his shoulder. He blushed and fidgeted as she moved away, throwing a knowing look over her shoulder that seemed to say, "What are you waiting for?" before settling in her spot at the table next to Ezekiel. Woman didn't miss a damn thing.

It was a sunny day, cloudless, with just the hint of a breeze in the air. Children darted here and there, excited by the prospect of a party and cake—a rare treat. Even though Hilltop, Alexandria, the Kingdom, and other surrounding communities that emerged from the ashes of war were thriving, the world was different now. Simpler. These kids didn't remember video games and cell phones. Internet and McDonald's. Even cars were scarcely used now, as fuel was a rare commodity, reserved for emergency situations.

"Hey." Maggie slid into the chair next to him that Rick had recently vacated. "You okay?" Her hand covered his. The fact that she was touching him more frequently wasn't lost on him. He'd never craved human contact and had only let a handful of people truly in—first Carol, then, all too briefly, Beth. Rick. Michonne and Glenn, to an extent. Now Maggie. And he found himself craving her touch, more and more, and his guilt was paramount, all-consuming. Glenn wasn't here, because of him, and now he was having less-than-innocent thoughts about the man's wife.

"Fine," he lied, snatching his hand away. He covered any potential sting that might have caused by forcing a smile. "Just…can't believe how fast she's growin.' Like a damn weed."

She returned his smile as she watched her daughter, that close-mouthed grin of hers that suggested she saw right through him, but, evidently, she chose to let it go for the time being. "Wish Daddy was here to see 'er. He'd be so proud."

Daryl grunted his agreement. "Hershel'd be proud o' _you_. What you've done here. The woman you've become."

She laughed. "I like to think so. A good man, my daddy, but he _was_ old-fashioned. Very…biblical. In his eyes, women belonged in the home, tendin' to supper an' the kids."

"Nah. He'd be proud."

She smiled again, gently, as they watched Bethy chasing Judith and Gracie, the girls having finished their cake and on a sugar high. He wanted to tell Maggie that Glenn would be proud, too, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He hadn't spoken aloud Glenn's name, not once. A fact, he knew, that wasn't lost on her. Maggie rarely mentioned Glenn in front of him these days, and he hated that she felt the need to walk around on eggshells with him. But there it was.

"Good t'start 'er learnin' the basics o'trackin' an' bowhuntin' now, right?" he asked after a moment, opting to change the subject to safer territory.

"The deal was when she turned five," she said with a sideways glance, nudging his shoulder with hers.

He huffed. "Ain't too young ta learn. Bagged my first buck, I's only four."

Maggie let out a small laugh. "Uh-huh. I'm sure. She ain't mature enough, Daryl. Would scare away the game."

"Ain't the point."

"Fine. Four and a half. That's all you're gittin,' an' that's only 'cause I trust you with her more than anyone."

He swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned to look at her, forcing himself not to glance away immediately when her eyes met his, wide and sincere. "Fine."

"It's a deal, then." She stuck out her hand, all business, and he took it.

"Y'know, y'ain't as tough as you think you are, woman," he stated, releasing her firm grasp.

Her hand slid up his arm as she stood, lingering briefly on his shoulder. "Mm. Keep tellin' yourself that. By the way, Bethy's lucky to have you." She bent down then, pressing her lips briefly to the top of his head before quickly straightening once more. "Girls, slow down!" she called as she turned away from him without another word. "Aaron, will you take that from her? Someone's gonna git an eye poked out…"

Looking up, he caught Carol's eye.

"What?"

She merely shrugged, doing a sucky job of hiding that smartass, know-it-all grin behind her glass of punch as she took a sip.

Daryl tried to scowl as he looked quickly away, but he couldn't stop the slight tug at the corners of his lips. When Ezekiel made an all-important announcement about having an all-important announcement to make, Daryl chose that moment to make an escape. Standing suddenly, he shoved the remainder of his cake in his mouth. He had a damned piñata he had to get the kids going on. Like they really needed a piñata filled to the brim with homemade candy. They were going to be on a sugar high for days as it was.

* * *

"Daryl, will you be my daddy?"

He froze, in the process of reading Dr. Seuss's _Oh, the Places You'll Go!_ for about the gazillionth time when she posed the unexpected question. Of all the things that could've come out of the girl's mouth, that was the last thing he was prepared for.

"Bethy…" The little girl was staring at him with solemn eyes, awaiting his answer. She was wearing her favorite pink pajamas, Mr. Bear clutched to her chest, and looking for all the world like a miniature version of her father. Except the eyes. They were wide and blue. "You've already got a daddy, sweetheart. And he was a good man. The best."

She sighed. "I know. Mama says he's in heaven." Her little face screwed up then. "You think he likes it there? Is that why he doesn't come to visit us?"

Daryl stared at her, wondering why the girl didn't ask her mama these questions. He wasn't equipped to handle this. "He…uh, I'm sure he likes it a lot, Bethy, but that ain't why he don't visit. He would if he could, but…he's…gone, honey."

She sighed again. "That's what Mama says. That he's with Auntie Beth and grandma an' grandpa. I just thought…if he wanted to enough, maybe he could come back, and I'd have a _real_ daddy. Just like Judy and Gracie."

He couldn't look at her. All he could see was Glenn's face that day, Negan laughing after he'd brought the bat down on his head that first time, Maggie sobbing at his side…

It was his fault, and now he had to explain to Glenn's daughter that her father was never coming back. "It don't work that way, honey." He forced himself to look at her. It was the least he could do. "But he loved your mama, and he woulda loved you, too. He _did_ love ya, and he didn't even know ya yet."

She smiled, looking a lot like her mama in that moment. "If he ain't comin' back…then maybe you could be my daddy, too. My Other Daddy. You already do all the stuff that daddies do anyway."

Daryl's throat worked, and he had to force back sudden tears. Lord knows he loved this kid like his own, but he didn't deserve that honor. At the same time, though, he'd gouge out his own eyes before he broke her heart. "Far as I'm concerned," he finally said, "you can call me anything ya want, Bethy. You're like my own kid, but you might wanna check with your mama first. Don't wanna hurt 'er feelins,' all righ'?"

She nodded, her expression somber. "If she says yes, then I can call you 'Daddy'?"

He nodded, overcome by a hundred conflicting emotions all at once: Undeniable love and pride intermingled with guilt and shame. One day she was going to know. She was going to find out that he'd as good as killed her father, and then she'd hate him. "Yeah, kid. If she says yes."

Unexpectedly, Daryl suddenly found himself with an armful of little girl: She'd launched herself at him so quickly that he didn't even register the movement until she'd about knocked the wind out of him. "I love you, Daryl."

"Back atcha, kid," he breathed.

She released him just as suddenly as she'd grabbed him. "Oh! I almost forgot—I saved somethin' from my party for ya." Fuzzy bunny slippers stuck up in the air as she bent over and rifled beneath her bed.

"Yeah? You have a good time at your party?"

"Sure did! It was the best!" She re-emerged, something clutched in her tiny hands, which she then held out for him. "It's a little archer. See? I found it on the ground. I think it was in the piñata."

He took the small plastic toy from her. It wore a hat with a feather and pointy shoes. "Sure do."

"He reminded me of you. I thought you might like 'im."

He couldn't stop the upward tug at the corners of his lips. "I ain't got a feathered hat," he pointed out.

"Well…maybe I could make you one."

He laughed aloud—something he rarely did, but this kid had a way of bringing that out in him. "You do that, an' I'll wear it every day. I think it's great, kid, but you keep it." He pressed the toy back in her hands. "Sumin' to remind you o'me when you're scared or lonely."

"I ain't never scared or lonely," she protested, even as she placed it carefully on her nightstand. "You're always close."

His throat worked. "You mean _I'm not ever_ ," he corrected her grammar, poking her in the ribs as she settled beneath the quilt once more, eliciting a giggle from her. "'Ain't' ain't a word."

"Yes, it is."

"Nope, it ain't."

"Then why do you say it?"

"'Cause I'm a grown-up. When you're grown, you can say whatever ya want." Reaching out, he flipped off her lamp. "Get some sleep, kid. Tomorrow's a school day."

"Okay. 'Night, Daryl."

Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, honey."

When he slipped from the girl's room, he almost bumped smack into Maggie, who lingered in the hallway outside her daughter's bedroom. She was wearing her blue bathrobe, and her hair was wet. She smelled good, like that vanilla lotion she sometimes used.

He couldn't read the expression on her face. Her jaw was set, and she seemed angry. When she wordlessly gripped his arm and steered him down the hallway and into her room, he knew he was in trouble.

"You, uh…ya heard all that?" he asked nervously, worrying his thumb. Her back was turned to him, and he didn't know what to make of it when she quietly pulled the door shut and latched it. If she was angry because he'd over-stepped his boundaries, that was all fine and dandy. He'd accept responsibility. "I know I shouldn'ta—"

"She's lucky to have you." Her voice was quiet, none of the anger present that Daryl had expected. She had gone utterly still, her back still toward him. " _I'm_ lucky to have you, Daryl." She turned to face him then, her eyes meeting his. The single lamp on her bedside table illuminated her beautiful features, and the spark of something…heated, almost hungry in her eyes.

Slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, she untied her robe, allowing it to slide from her body and pool at her feet. Unable to stop himself—but knowing he should—his eyes raked her from head to toe, his breathing laboring as all the blood in his body rushed decidedly south. She was naked beneath the robe. All smooth, creamy skin. Her breasts were high and firm, her nipples dark and puckered. Her belly was flat, her hips femininely flared, and his eyes were drawn instinctively to the thatch of dark hair at the junction of her thighs. Thighs that were rounded just enough; he could easily imagine slipping between them, becoming lost in her breathy sighs as she panted his name…

 _Fuck_. He wanted her. Had for a while now. But it was more than that…

* * *

A/N: There's one more part, and that'll be that. If you're interested in more from me on this pairing, speak up, because I don't even know if there's an audience for these two. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I wanted to apologize for the delay in getting this finished. It was originally intended to be a oneshot, but apparently I'm long-winded, and I wanted to do this pairing justice and make it believable, even if I don't have the time to commit to a long, drawn-out story. Anyway, this chapter is explicit. You've been warned.

* * *

"Maggie…" She was stalking toward him. He took a deep, steadying breath, attempting vainly to control the racing of his heart, pounding in time to the aching throb in his groin. He was almost embarrassed by how easily he'd become aroused, but he hadn't been with a woman in years, and this was the woman he'd been pining after for a while now, if he were being honest. "What're ya doin'?"

"What does it look like?" She smiled seductively as she approached him, her hands sliding up his chest and winding around the back of his neck once she was flush against him. Her bare breasts pressed against his t-shirt clad chest. Daryl was frozen in inaction, fingers working at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to pick her up, throw her on the dresser, and fuck her senseless, but it was a bad idea. He'd fuck it up. He'd ruin what he had going here, and he didn't want to lose Maggie _or_ Bethy.

He swallowed. "The kid—"

"She's in bed. The door's locked." Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his unshaven jaw. He felt his pulse jump beneath the feel of her hot, wet mouth.

"Why now?" He didn't know why he was still talking when he could be buried between her legs. Goddammit, yes he did. He couldn't just fuck Maggie, but he didn't know how to do relationships.

She pulled away slightly, a slight pucker creasing her brow. "I've wanted you for a while now, Daryl. I want _this_ , and I think you've known. It's what you want, too, I know it."

He swallowed again, unable to deny what she said. "It ain't right," he finally murmured, his voice like gravel to his own ears. And there it was. The simple truth. He didn't know why she'd chosen him, but he knew he didn't deserve her affections.

She sighed, a sound of resignation, nodding once as she released him and put space between their bodies. Daryl experienced equal parts relief and disappointment as he turned away, giving her privacy while she moved across the room and retrieved her robe. "All right." When he turned to face her once more, she was cinching the sash. "Can I ask why not?" Her eyes flew briefly to his bulging crotch, and his face warmed beneath the heat of her gaze. She didn't sound angry, or even disappointed. Merely curious. "Daryl, Glenn has been gone for almost five years now," she volunteered gently when he didn't answer her.

He was still frozen, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and the mention of Glenn only made it worse for him. He was dead and in the grave, and here Daryl was, on the verge of fucking his wife. If Maggie hadn't retreated when she had, he would have. It wouldn't have taken much.

She moved to the bed and sat on the edge, patting the spot next to her. "Let's talk. I won't bite," she assured him with a gentle smile. "Not unless you want me to. I promise, okay?"

Hesitantly, he approached the bed and sat awkwardly next to her. He couldn't help but fidget, longing for the strap of his crossbow to occupy his hands. Or a cigarette, but he'd given that up shortly after the kid was born.

"Sometimes it feels like yesterday," she said, toying with a loose thread on the comforter. "The last mornin' before… Well, we got into this stupid fight. He kept leavin' the toilet seat up, an' I fell into it early in the mornin'…" She laughed then, but Daryl's throat merely tightened. He didn't know why she was telling him this, and he didn't know if he wanted to hear it. "I was such a bitch to him. The mornin' sickness had kicked in, and… well, we made up before he left the house, but that's what I hold onto."

"Y'ain't gotta feel bad about that," Daryl managed to grind out. "Glenn…" It was the first time he'd said his name. "He knew ya loved 'im. Ev'ryone knew."

She smiled, her hand reaching out for his where it was braced on his knee, intertwining their fingers. "That's the thing, Daryl. I don't feel bad. It was all so…disgustingly _normal_. So…domestic. I let myself believe that it would always be that way. When we were together, I forgot the world had ended. And that's what I hold onto."

"Why are ya tellin' me this?" he rasped.

"Because that's what it's like when I'm with you, now. Me, you, Bethy… It's like we're in our own world. A new world. A _better_ one."

"You did that."

"No, _we_ did that." Her hand squeezed his. "And Glenn… He'd want me to find that again. He'd want me to be happy, to move on. He'd want _you_ to be happy."

Daryl snorted. "He'd kill me if he knew the sorta thoughts I been havin' aboutcha."

Her smile widened, and she released his hand to reach up, tucking his over-long bangs behind his ear. "No," she whispered. "He'd approve. You're one of the good things in this world, remember?" Her hand lingered on his face, cupping his scratchy cheek, and Daryl couldn't help but lean into her touch, absorbing the warmth she offered as his eyes flitted closed. "He'd like that it was you."

"It's my fault," he said suddenly, eyes opening once more as he pulled away from her touch. "It's my fault, an' one day Bethy's gonna find out, an' she'll hate me. I can't let 'er call me 'Daddy,' knowin' I'm the reason her real one's gone."

Maggie shifted, turning to face him and tucking a leg beneath her. "Daryl, have you been holdin' onto that this whole time?" When he merely stared at her, she shook her head adamantly. "No, you listen to me right now. That man was a sadist and a sociopath, and he made a choice. He—and he alone— _chose_ to end Glenn's life on a whim. That is _not_ on you, d'ya hear me? _No one_ —least of all you—forced him to lift that bat and murder my husband." She was breathing heavily, her eyes searching his face. "Do you hear me?"

"Yeah." He swallowed. He wanted desperately to believe her, but he'd carried around this guilt for so long now that it felt like a part of him. Shedding it wouldn't be an easy feat. "But if I hadn't—"

"He. Chose." She stated the words slowly, firmly, leaving no room for argument. "We don't git to know what might or might not've happened. It don't matter. All that matters is what we have left, and what we _do_ with that. So, what're we gonna do with that, Daryl? What are _you_ gonna do? You gonna mope around, only half-alive because of a choice a lunatic with a baseball bat made years ago? 'Cause that'd just be insulting to Glenn's memory. No, we honor him, an' the others who died, by movin' on, 'cause that's what he'd want." She paused again, searching his face. "Just to be clear, I love Glenn. I'll always love Glenn, but there's enough room in my heart for another. I want it to be you…if you'll let me. If you'll let go of all that stuff you're holdin' onto."

"I dunno how," he finally admitted. Again, his voice sounded like gravel, like he'd chain-smoked a carton of cigarettes. "I want to, Maggie, I do—but I don't fuckin' know how."

"Let me help you," she whispered. "Daryl." She was turned toward him again, leaning into him, and all he had to do was turn his head a half an inch, and his lips brushed hers. His heart made its best effort to beat its way out of his chest as his lips moved tentatively, almost chastely against hers. When was the last time he'd simply kissed someone? Maybe not since he was a wet-behind-the-ears kid. Fuckin' was another thing altogether. Not as personal. But he hadn't even done that in a long time, and this wasn't just any woman. This was Maggie. _His_ Maggie. He wasn't sure when he'd started to think of her that way, as _his_ , but, at some point during the last couple of years, he had.

As she deepened the kiss, coaxing his lips open, Daryl found himself somewhat astonished to realize that he didn't experience the familiar sting of guilt. When her tongue brushed against his—she tasted like mint toothpaste—he forgot all about feeling bad. She moaned into his mouth when he experimentally nipped her bottom lip, and so he did it again—somewhat harder.

She moved even closer, draping her naked thigh over his, her fingers coming up to grip his hair as the kiss at long last morphed into something raw, something needy. She made her impatience abundantly clear when one hand left his hair, gliding down his chest between their bodies, stopping at the edge of his t-shirt. She clearly hesitated, wanting more but fearful of sending him running.

At that thought, he growled into her mouth, taking the lead and wanting to show her, suddenly, that he wasn't flighty. He wasn't going anywhere, and she no longer had to walk on eggshells around him. He kissed her with renewed fervor, sucking her tongue into his mouth as he reached over suddenly with both hands and grabbed her hips, pulling her gracelessly into his lap. She gasped to find herself suddenly straddling him, her robe falling open, and Daryl immediately leaned forward and sucked her exposed tit between his lips, _hard_.

 _"_ _Daryl—oh…"_

She was panting, her head thrown back and exposing her long, smooth neck as he scraped his teeth along her taut peak, tugging gently; he felt her heat through his jeans where she ground unabashedly against him. He growled, overcome with lust by the expression on her face as he kissed the tops of her rounded breasts, working his way up. While nipping the tender flesh of her throat, his hands slid inside her robe and palmed her perfect tits. He briefly savored their weight, squeezing almost roughly. His calloused thumbs swiped her nipples—she groaned again—just before he dragged his palms down her sides to land on her hips. Gripping her, he thrust upward, hard enough to make her gasp. He wanted her. He wanted her now.

"Daryl," she gasped again. "Now. We can take our time later. I wanna feel you." Her fingers were in his hair, hair nails lightly scraping his scalp, as she dragged his head back toward hers and delved her tongue into his mouth in another raw, sloppy kiss.

He growled, overwhelmed by the desperation in her words and actions. He had an idea he was about to embarrass himself, but fuck it. He could make it up to her later. Standing suddenly, he carried her to her vanity and deposited her on the ledge, kicking the chair out of the way as her legs wrapped around his middle. Her robe had slid from her shoulders and was bunched at her waist, exposing her body to him in all its flawless glory as she leaned back, bracing her hands on the vanity for leverage. When she arched her back, his head swooped down, suckling her breasts, one after the other, even as she clawed at his belt. Her movements were frantic, desperate, as she managed to work his buckle open. She didn't waste any time in delving her hand inside his boxers, pumping him furiously as he grunted against her flesh.

Daryl released her tit with an audible _pop_ , reaching down to still her hands. "You gotta stop, honey, 'less ya want this t'be over before it's started." She smirked up at him, her expression heavy-lidded with desire, when she reached up and began tugging on his shirt instead. Only then did Daryl's fog of desire recede somewhat: As far as he knew, she'd never seen his scars. He'd done a pretty damn good job of keeping them hidden, and the questioning look she gave him at his hesitation only confirmed that.

His options were limited. He could stop this now—his dick rejected that notion outright—let her take his shirt off and endure her pity, or find a way to keep his shirt on, which didn't seem likely without an explanation on his part. Some of his scars could be explained away by the War—fuck knows he'd acquired his share of new ones—but not all of them. Not _most_ of them.

Fuck it. She was gonna find out one way or another. Might as well rip the band-aide off.

Brushing her fingers aside, he grasped the hem of his tee and tore it over his head before he could change his mind, tossing it into the corner. Sure enough, she had gone still, her eyes taking in the crisscross patterns of ugly scars on his chest and ribs, permanent gifts from the Old Man. Evidence that Daryl was weak, that he hadn't been able to defend himself.

"Daryl," she whispered, her eyes flitting to his face. She smiled up at him, and he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he didn't find the pity in her eyes that he'd been expecting. "You're beautiful." It was the last thing he'd expected her to say. And while he believed that _she_ believed what she was saying, he found it difficult to hear nonetheless. Leaning forward, she planted a kiss to his heart, her fingertips skimming his torso. They didn't linger on his scars, but they didn't shy away, either. "You deserve…everything," she whispered against his heart. "You have no idea how special you are, do you?"

He didn't know what to say to that. She was wrong. There was blood on his hands, lots of it, and the thing that made it worse was the fact that most of those kills—he didn't feel an ounce of guilt about. During the War, he hadn't hesitated to do what he had to do. As far as he was concerned, every single one of those fuckers could burn in hell. He wasn't the man that Maggie clearly believed him to be. The man that maybe, for a while, he _had_ been, before the War. The man who hadn't killed Dwight on the spot, first time he'd met him: The moment that arrow pierced Denisse's head, Daryl had learned real quick the price of mercy, the price of weakness.

Even if he couldn't go back to being that same guy, maybe he could still find a way to be worthy of her. Of Bethy.

He could start, he reckoned, by not fucking Maggie on top of a piece of furniture like some barroom conquest. Her robe slid to the floor as he hefted her up once more, spinning and carrying her back to the bed. As she scrambled back against the pillows, Daryl made quick work of pushing his jeans and underwear down his hips, kicking them gracelessly away. When he crawled on the bed, she opened her legs for him, welcoming him into the warm cradle of her thighs while pulling him into her arms. She pressed her lips to his jaw, her fingers lightly skimming his back. There were scars there, too, but if she noticed she didn't give any indication.

Slipping his hand between their bodies, he found that she was really fuckin' wet, ready for him. He swallowed. "You, uh…you on anything?" He didn't know if birth control pills were still a thing, but he had to ask. Not like he had a rubber in his pocket.

Her brow creased in bewilderment as she peered up at him.

"Much as I love the kid, don't know if we should be makin' another quite yet," he elaborated bluntly.

Understanding dawned on her face, even as his own heated all the way to his ears. He hadn't meant to say it quite like that, by implying that one day she might want to make a baby with him. But it was done. For her part, she didn't seem to notice his mistake as she shook her head. "It's okay, I'm not ovulating. I mean, I can't git pregnant right now."

He searched her face, wondering briefly if she'd planned this, but that thought was lost as she impatiently thrust her hips upward, and his dick nudged her wet heat. "Daryl," she whispered, her patience clearly waning.

Never breaking eye contact, he pulled her thigh high over his hip as he aligned himself. Slowly, he sank into her, an inch at a time. He wanted to take his time, make it last, but the way her body gripped him—words like _tight, velvet, wet_ flashed through his mind in rapid succession—he had a feeling this would be short-lived.

Maggie's eyes had widened as he penetrated her, a sharp hiss escaping her lips, and her fingernails dug into the flesh of his back—yet he barely registered the sting.

"This okay?" he ground out, once he was fully sheathed inside her. His body trembled, arms braced on either side of her; it was an act of will that he managed to restrain himself from immediately setting a brutal pace, as instinct demanded he do. _Fuck_. He'd almost forgotten what this felt like. And he'd never done it bareback, not once.

She nodded quickly, biting her lip. "Yeah. Just been a long time…an' you…ain't exactly packin' light."

He tried like hell not to blush, he really did. He knew he wasn't small, but he'd never thought of himself as particularly large. Not that he'd spent a lot of time checking out other dudes' dicks. "Wanna stop?" Much as he wanted this—he'd be taking cold showers for a month straight if they stopped now—he didn't want to hurt her or continue if she wasn't comfortable. "Just say the word, honey."

"No," she said quickly, and her legs tightened around him, as if scared he might disappear. "No, you feel good. _This_ is good." She smiled up at him then. "Please, Daryl…"

Well, he wasn't gonna make her beg for it. Pulling his hips back until he'd almost slipped from her entirely, he sank back in quickly, delighting in the little " _oh_ " she made when he was buried to the hilt once more. He did this several more times, thrusting slowly but sharply and loving the sounds he was able to draw from her.

"Daryl." Her voice was a ragged groan as she panted in his ear. "More…"

He couldn't help but smirk as he leaned up slightly so he could see her face. "More what, honey? Tell me." He was somewhat surprised by his own audacity, but encouraged by how much she seemed to want him.

She grabbed his head suddenly, forcing him to look her straight in the eye, and there was something there, wild and hungry, that left him staggered. "More of your dick, Daryl," she stated bluntly. "I need you to fuck me now. Like you're starvin' for it."

He stared at her, his dick jolting where it was buried between her legs. The woman had no idea…

Maggie pulled his face the remainder of the way to hers, kissing him desperately. When her teeth dragged on his lower lip, tugging aggressively, he couldn't do anything but oblige her. Leaning back so he could slide his arm beneath her knee, he hefted one leg high until it draped over his shoulder; her opposite leg curled around his ass as he began thrusting hard and deep from this new position. He was already perilously close, and there was no way he was going to last at this pace…

" _Oh_ —oh my God, _Daryl_ …like that…" One of her hands was fisted in her hair, her opposite arm tilted back to grip her pillow as her perfect tits bounced in time to his thrusts. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and the expression of absolute bliss on her face, and the idea that he could do that to her, almost made him come then and there. She was really fuckin' gorgeous, and she felt way too good.

Walker guts. That time he'd walked in on Rick and Michonne in the armory at Alexandria, Rick's naked white ass jackhammering. Anything to make this last.

Fuck. It was no use. His balls were already tightening, his release imminent…

Nah, it wasn't happening; he refused to come before her.

Pulling from her suddenly, he didn't give her time to question what he was doing as he immediately slid down her body, his palms pushing her thighs wide. He took a moment to enjoy the view: Her arousal glinted enticingly on her swollen folds, and he licked his lips as he glanced up from between her legs, watching Maggie watching him. Her expression was darkened by lust, and she practically panted in anticipation.

Daryl swallowed, almost nervous suddenly. He was no expert in female anatomy, but he recalled the basics from the fumbling, drunken trysts behind that bar he'd frequented with Merle. Deciding to wing it, he dipped down, dragging his tongue along her slit and lapping at her juices. Christ, she was sweet as honey, and when his tongue nudged the swollen nub at the base of her sex, she gasped his name, her hands suddenly gripping his hair. Without an ounce of shame, Maggie wrapped her thighs around his neck and ground herself against his face.

Taking the more-than-subtle hint, he went to town on her, taking her enthusiastic cues as he dragged the of flat his tongue repeatedly up her folds while furiously working her clit with his thumb. His facial hair had to be rough on her sensitive flesh, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was thrusting against him unabashedly, and when he glanced up he saw her back arched, her glorious tits straining toward the sky.

A fresh surge of lust causing his dick to jolt, he suddenly shoved two fingers inside her to the hilt, pumping furiously while sucking her clit between his lips, which evidently did the trick: She practically came up off the bed as her inner walls contracted forcefully, and Daryl reached up, clamping his hand over her mouth as she mewled her pleasure.

Her sex was still twitching spasmodically when he suddenly leaned up and flipped her over, overwhelmed by desire and blind to anything but the aching throb in his groin. Pulling her ass high into the air, he rose up on his knees, tightened his grip on her hips, and slipped inside her without preamble. Her inner walls squeezed him deliciously as he set a brutal pace, enjoying the view of her lush, round backside as his flesh slapped against hers. When his hand snaked around, seeking the sensitive spot between her legs once more, he worked her furiously in time to his thrusts. It took mere seconds, and Maggie came for him again—hard, judging by the sounds she made as he clamped his free hand over her mouth once more, and when her inner muscles pulsed mightily around him, it was too much…

Daryl grunted as he followed her over the edge, spurting inside her so forcefully that pinpricks of light dotted the edges of his vision, and he didn't stop his erratic, frenzied thrusts until he'd emptied himself fully. They were both breathing heavily as he finally slipped from her body, both satiated and sticky. Sweat glistened on her forehead as Maggie turned her head, seeking his lips over her shoulder. Daryl met her, kissing her lazily as she turned beneath him and pulled him into her arms.

"Sorry," he grunted, his head pillowed on her heaving chest. Now that he was satisfied physically, embarrassment was taking root.

"For?" She sounded amused as she kissed the top of his head and swiped at the sweat-soaked hair stuck to his cheek.

"Y'know…for that last thing…grabbin' ya an' just…" His voice trailed off when the right words didn't come to mind. What could he say? He was sorry for humping her like a dog would a bitch in heat? When he'd envisioned being with Maggie, it hadn't been so…frenzied, animalistic. Still, it was hands-down the best sex he'd ever had.

"Hey." Her voice was husky as she pulled his head up, forcing him to look at her. "You hear me complainin'? That was amazing. _You're_ amazing."

He tried not to blush at the compliment, but he couldn't help but deflect the attention from himself. "Nah, that was all you. You were like…that guy on the runway at airports with the wands, directin' me which way t'go an' shit. Didn't have a clue what I was doin.'" Not that he'd ever been to an airport, but he'd seen it in movies.

She swatted him playfully as she laughed. "Daryl, _own_ your prowess. You've got nothin' t'be modest about. Trust me, you're all man."

He blushed again, feeling pleased by the praise, even if it was difficult to accept. "Stop. Gonna give me a big head." He then shifted on the mattress until he was on his back, pulling her halfway on top of him. Once she was settled in the crook of his arm, he saw her smirking impishly at him. "What?"

"Nothin.' Just thought I already did that, is all. Gave you a big head."

He snorted. "Smartass."

She chuckled, a contented sound as her fingertips traced random patterns on his chest, and he found that he didn't care when she lightly grazed the edge of his most pronounced scar. "Like Otis used t'say, better a smartass than a dumbass."

He snorted again, not bothering to fight the upward tug at the corners of his lips. "So, uh…that mean ya wouldn't be opposed ta doin' that again…prefer'bly sometime soon?"

Her brow puckered thoughtfully. "Well, that depends. On the second round, I have a minimal requirement of three orgasms. And whips. Maybe handcuffs. No. Definitely handcuffs."

He stared at her for a moment, deciding that playing along would be better than sputtering and blushing like a damn kid. "Whips might be hard t'come by—pardon the pun—but I reckon Rick might have handcuffs. Y'know, from his Good Sherriff days. The orgasms, though—we'll make it four."

"Four? That's very ambitious of you, Daryl Dixon." Leaning in, she pecked the tip of his nose.

"Can I say? I'm a thorough kinda guy." He had to admit, this felt good, just the two of them, joking around like this was the new normal. _Because that's what it's like when I'm with you, now. Me, you, Bethy… It's like we're in our own world. A new world._

It almost scared him to realize how easily he could get used to this: Tucking the kid in, crawling between Maggie's sheets. Hearing her warm laughter. Kissing her whenever he wanted. Having breakfast with the two of them every morning before heading out to hunt… These weren't things that he'd ever desired, before.

"Gotta do sumin' for me, though," he added, pulling himself from his fantasies of domestic bliss.

"Oh?"

"You gotta be be wearin' that dress ya had on today."

Her smile widened. "Like that, didja?"

"Nah. You were hideous. I like my women homely."

Maggie laughed, clearly enjoying this lighthearted side of him, and she seemed pleased that she was able to bring it out in him. Not a lot of people could. "Noted. Well, I'll let you in on a little secret: I made it for you."

Even as he processed the fact that she'd dolled herself up for him, he couldn't help but stare at her, his expression deadpan. "I know I got nice legs an' all, but I dunno if it'd flatter my figure."

She sat up, doubling over as the laughter bubbled out of her. "You're really a funny guy when ya wanna be, Daryl," she finally said, wiping the tears that had formed at the mental image of him wearing her dress. "Okay, so we've got bondage, sundresses, and multiple orgasms. Oh, my. You gotta wear leather, though. You'd totally rock it." She settled in the crook of his arm once more, pulling the sheet over them both.

"All righ,' but I draw the line at assless chaps."

"You sure? You really do have a nice ass. Round and firm. Not too hairy, either. I got a glimpse earlier."

He smirked, even as he tried in vain not to blush. "You been checkin' out my ass, woman?"

"Sure. Me, an' about half the women here at Hilltop. You can't tell me ya haven't noticed."

He scoffed and huffed dismissively at the idea of the women in the community looking at him, even as he wondered how long Maggie had known she was attracted to him. Daryl had always thought she was a looker—when he had time to actually notice stuff like that between looking for Carol's girl, and subsequently being chased by Walkers, cannibals, and psychopaths with delusions of grandeur—but she'd been with Glenn. And, to be honest, for the longest he'd sorta viewed her as a snarky, over-privileged brat. At some point along the way, though, between losing Beth, and Aaron finding them, he'd formed a respect for her. She was one of the kindest, most fiercely loyal people he knew. Then, after Negan… He didn't look at her like that for a long time, mostly 'cause he couldn't see past his guilt and shame, but he'd watched her pick herself up off the ground, brush herself off, and rage war. And it hadn't even been about revenge; for her, it had truly been about justice, about making the world a safer place to raise her daughter.

There wasn't a specific point when their friendship had morphed into something decidedly more. It was a gradual process, but now this thing between them was all-consuming, powerful. If Daryl were being honest with himself, he'd admit that he couldn't see a future without Maggie and Bethy. And that scared him a little. Okay, a lot.

"Daryl, are you okay with what just happened between us?" she asked suddenly, as if sensing his thoughts had made a turn for the serious. "I mean, really okay?"

He tightened his arm around her, his fingers sliding beneath her loose hair and caressing the base of her scalp, and he felt her sigh of pleasure. He was searching for his old pal guilt as he forced himself to think about Glenn, and he realized, in that moment, that he was completely at peace. He could even almost believe her when she said that Glenn would want her to move on, to be happy—and that he'd approve. Maybe, just maybe, she was right.

"Yeah," he finally said. "It's good. This. Whatever this is." Okay, so he'd never claimed to be Shakespeare.

"It is, isn't it?" She pressed her lips briefly to his chest before leaning over to kiss his lips.

Daryl complied gently, his fingers applying soft pressure to her head as he returned her kiss. "Y _ou_ okay with this?" he whispered once their lips had parted.

She smiled. "Yeah. It's time."

"So…what now?" He didn't know what to expect. Was he supposed to hold her hand in public? Move his meager possessions into her room? He was suddenly anxious about what she might expect from him, especially with her being the leader of the community and all.

Her grin only widened. "Now, we sleep. I'm tired." She pecked his nose again. "One thing at a time, Daryl. Don't stress yourself out. Just enjoy this, now."

"Yeah, but are we…?" He was embarrassed that he even had to ask, but he'd never been in a real relationship before and had no clue how these things worked. When Rick and Michonne had gotten together it had literally happened overnight. Was that the way things worked now? He was glad it wasn't _before_. Respectable women like Maggie had expected to be taken out on dates and shit—not that a woman like her would've looked at him twice—and Daryl didn't have a clue. He didn't think screwing random women against his truck or in the alley next to the local dive bar counted as dates. Not that it had happened a lot, but Merle had given him hell whenever he'd turn down pussy.

"Friends with benefits?" Maggie supplied, a playful glint in her eye, yanking him out of his thoughts. "Definitely. You have to have sex with me anytime I'm horny now. Which is a lot, by the way. You're gonna be really tired, so you might as well sleep while you can."

He laughed, something he didn't do too often, and it sounded strange to his own ears. "That mean I git head whenever I want it?"

She brought her hand up and gently swiped his hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. "Nope, big guy, this is all about me." She tilted her head forward and kissed him again. "Yes," she whispered against his lips, once the kiss had ended.

"Yes what?" He was genuinely puzzled.

"Yes to the head. And to the other thing." Her fingers threaded with his. "We're together now. If that's what you want."

His throat worked. "Yeah." It's all he could say. "That what _you_ want?"

She nodded. "It is. Definitely. An' I don't mind if Bethy calls you 'daddy,' if that's what she wants and you're comfortable with it."

All he could do was nod. If he tried to speak, that would be it.

"It's okay, Daryl. We're not gonna forget him. An' we're not gonna let _her_ forget. We're movin' on. Livin.' That's how we honor him."

Again, he nodded, and Maggie smiled once more as she shifted on the mattress, reaching over to flip off the lap. When she settled into him once more, turning on her side facing away from him, she dragged his arm around her middle. He complied readily, turning to spoon her, his arm tightening across her waist as he buried his face in her hair. It smelled like peaches.

He sighed in contentment, and he was asleep before the minute had ticked by.

* * *

Daryl was confused upon awakening. It took several moments for his sleep-addled brain to catch up and remember the night before, and even longer to realize that there was a heavy weight across his middle. Tearing his sleep-crusted eyes open, he saw by the early morning light that Bethy was sleeping sideways, her head pillowed on his belly and her feet next to her mother's head. One tiny fist was stretched behind her head, and her little mouth was open.

He wanted to laugh at first, but then he froze as panic set in. In the next instant, though, he relaxed again when he remembered getting up in the middle of the night to take a piss. He'd put on pants and unlocked the door for this very reason. He was worried Bethy might wake up scared, and she'd be confused about why her mother's door was locked. He hadn't thought to make sure Maggie was decent, though, but when his eyes shot to her, he saw that she'd slipped into a nightgown at some point.

He took a moment to enjoy the view. He'd never been one for fancy adjectives, but at that moment the word "stunning" popped into his head. So did "peaceful." Her features were relaxed, no frown marring her brow, and her long lashes kissed her cheeks. Her lips were plump and ripe for the kissing, and if the kid hadn't decided he'd make a good pillow, he would have. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd woken up in her bed, he might've thought he'd dreamt last night. Daryl didn't think he deserved her—any of it—but he couldn't bring himself to feel any of the guilt he might have expected—so he reckoned that was progress.

"Daryl?"

His gaze whipped to the kid. Her large blue eyes were open, and she was staring at him.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Why are you wearin' your day pants in bed?"

He barked out a laugh. Not _Why are you sleeping in my mommy's bed?_ like he might have expected. "Was comfy, I guess," he finally said. "Your mama an' I were talkin,' an' I guess I fell asleep."

A dimple creased her little brow. "Without your shirt on?"

He felt the heat bloom from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears. "Yeah, well…I got hot."

The kid was staring at the crisscross pattern of scars on his torso, and he felt self-conscious, mentally kicking himself for not thinking to put his shirt back on. Bethy shifted on the bed, sitting up next to him, and with considerable effort Daryl didn't shove her hand away when she moved to touch his most pronounced scar. "Someone hurt you?" she breathed, and the heartbreak in her tiny voice was palpable.

"It was a long time ago." Daryl had long ago refused to give the Old Man another moment's thought. "Nothin' ya need t'worry about, okay, honey?"

She nodded, her eyes flickering back up to meet his as her hand dropped to her side.

"C'mon. You hungry? Let's let yer mama sleep. I'll make pancakes."

Her eyes widened in clear excitement, and she grabbed his hand after hopping out of bed. Daryl only paused to grab his t-shirt and shrug it over his head as Bethy pulled him along. "Can you do the smiley face with the bacon an' eggs?" she said when they were on the stairs. "Do we have bacon? I love bacon."

"Don't push it, kid. We'll see. Gotta eat fast, though. Enid hates it when you're late for school. I'll git an earful about it later…"

She chattered the entire way to the kitchen, and Daryl slowly became cognizant of the grin that was plastered to his face. When Michonne padded into the kitchen in her bathrobe, intent on coffee before she and Rick were to head back to Alexandria, he didn't even bother trying to wipe the ridiculous expression from his face. Bethy was perched on the island, facing away from Michonne as she did a poor job of stirring the pancake mix, and when Michonne smirked at him in a way that suggested she somehow _knew_ , Daryl gave her the middle finger.

When her smile only widened, he rolled his eyes. He reckoned he was gonna have to get used to it.

* * *

A/N: That's all, folks. I realize that this will be completely AU by the end of the season, but it's fun to speculate. If you enjoyed it, let me know! I might explore this pairing some more. If you didn't love it? I respond to criticism well, even if I don't necessarily agree. ;P


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